


You Stupid Shit

by MaK



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, M/M, Self Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-15
Updated: 2012-08-15
Packaged: 2017-11-12 04:54:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaK/pseuds/MaK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story of two alien teenagers assuming the wrong shit for a long time and end up hurting themselves because of it.</p>
<p>But then they get the newsflash that, hey, they were wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Stupid Shit

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be a cute little fic about kanaya thinking rose didnt like her back
> 
> but no

“I’m not in love,” you repeat mentally. The girl besides you is shrouded in a furious forest of orange that’s been complimented by clear, blue water and an even clearer sky. It stings you, physically and emotionally, that the blue is so persistent in her life. You like John, for all that you know of him, though he can be ridiculously silly at times, but you do not like the fact he’s meant to be with Rose. This is something that has caused you to stain many pillows with jade tears and quit wearing mascara all together because it only floods down your cheeks in an ugly mess.

In your chest, your heart aches because all you want to do is hold her and whisper nothings into her ear. She’d giggle at your attempt, wave it off like it means nothing, but her cheeks would color her namesake and it’d make you feel at least two hundred times brighter. Of course, this is not happening and has a very slim chance of ever occurring.

Glaring down at the book in your lap, you wish John had accepted Karkat’s black invitation; oh, how much easier your life would be. It’s childish and all, but you have a small fire of hatred burning for John, and none of it is meant sensually. You just don’t like John Egbert because he’s the one who’s supposed to make Rose feel all light inside and it’s far easier to be angry at John than it is to hold unrequited red feelings for a girl who doesn’t even know they exist.

However, you manage to do both.

“Kanaya,” Rose’s voice is smooth and tinted with some kind of accent given from her home’s landscape. You look at her through the corner of your eye before fully turning your head, recognizing subconsciously how pale she is and how a furious explosion of freckles covers her cheeks and she’s really an adorable girl. She smiles once she’s positive she’s got your attention and speaks, “Is your book infuriating you or do you have some unspoken matters at hand?”

For a moment, you’re suspicious that she’s trying to lure you into some kind of feeling jam that will undoubtedly descend into a pit of awkwardness and you leaving with your metaphorical tail between your legs. “The latter,” you say anyway. “But none that need any immediate attention,” that’s a lie and you really should treat your heart better if you ever want to have a successful relationship.

She tilts her head curiously – she does this unknowingly and is flustered when she realizes she’s done it. This time, however, she does not realize it and allows her neck to be slightly leaned toward the left in a casual manner of concern. How much you observe sometimes baffles you. “Are you positive? They seem to have you fully captivated.”

You look down on the torn pages of your book and furrow your brow. There have been a lot of moments in your life when you’ve been able to confess or at least pursue the matter in some way. You guess it’s high time you assume Rose at least has an idea of what’s going on, and maybe she wants to make you feel better and get that elephant out of the room, but you’re not going to open up that door of conversation. “Kanaya?” she says, almost hums, after your moment of silence.

“While these matters have had my mind completely enwrapped around them, it’s really a petty issue of the red quadrant that I’ve refused to and probably won’t ever solve.”

“Vriska?” she tilts her head further – realizes it, blushes, and sits straight as if it hadn’t happened. “The girl you punched in the face?”

“Mm,” your heart doesn’t have a shred of pity for Vriska anymore. And while you almost felt sad to let her go, having all that regret and tastelessness off your shoulders was great. “No,” you answer, finally. You wish you hadn’t jumped back into this unrequited cycle again.

In the back of your mind, you wonder if at one point in your life you and Rose will have a conversation where she assumes you had a thing for John. How terribly ironic that would be.

“Oh,” Rose says, now confused. Her face crunches into something that could almost be a pout but has too much concentration in it to be such a thing. She sets her book down and leans on her elbow, thinking. “Your red quadrant is one similar to the human love, correct? Flushed and all?” You nod and smirk at her intelligence – you do adore how she strives to impress while covering it with irony. She voices allowed her knowledge of your female fetish – making you a lesbian by human standards – and your cheeks color appropriately. She laughs at that.

The atmosphere lightens with her cheer but the gloom around your shoulders seems to gain weight.

“If it’s not the deceased Thief of Light,” she starts, “I’m honestly baffled as to whom you’re glaring hearts at.”

“’Whom’ not sharing those feelings,” you add.

She frowns and leans further into her shoulder. For all the perfectness her friends stereotype her far, Rose Lalonde is a rather laid back woman. “Do you know that for sure?”

You shrug and skim the same sentence nine times before absorbing anything from it. You then recognize this book is an Alternian novel of absolute fiction, you shut it and discard it under the table. “Perhaps not,” you shrug again, cracking your knuckles and stretching the skin of your back. “But if destiny is to be correctly served, the lady of whom my desires burn for shall not and probably shouldn’t return my feelings.” You bid her good night.

 

You beat the shit out of one of your blue pillows and then continue to sob into it. Crying is good for you, you’d been told by not only your lusus but by Karkat and Rose, but you’re beginning to feel they’re all one hundred percent wrong. The tears that dribble down your cheeks only pull at your heart and make you feel like shit. If you wanted to go into detail, you’d say that it feels as if your heart has been hooked and nearly pulled out of your chest, and while in its castrated state it gets stomped on by millions of unknowing beings and maybe punched by a hammer or something. But as of late, details seem to fade for you, so you’d rather not explore your ever growing vocabulary and settle for the mood of shit.

 

Karkat, being more of your friend than a moirail, understands your situation as he continues to stare spades at John. The two of you don’t talk openly about the matters of the heart, but being in the company of someone you know gets it is comforting.

“You know,” he starts, voice not screaming but still rough and dry. “They aren’t dating; none of the humans are.” He’s curled into himself. “And while I don’t know what the every living fuck,” he nearly shouts the profanity, “a homosexual is, maybe we still have a chance?”

“You’d like to forget they’re meant to repopulate their planet together and that fate has assigned them as a godly couple, hmm?” you stare at him, sadly. He huffs, crossing his arms over his knees and sighing loudly.

You’d both cry right now if you could, but it’s likely he’s wasted all his tears last night just as you had.

He sighs again and grumbles, “Yeah. I’d like to forget a lot of stuff, Kanaya.”

You stare down at your hands, flipping them over to look at the chipped paint on your nails and the rigged end of your thumbnail. Karkat notices too and he looks at you intensely, the yellow of his eyes blurred with red as tears begin to drip down his cheeks. You move to him, hug him, and pretend to ignore the jade that stains his sweater. He grips your hand, presses the pad of his forefinger against the nub of your thumb and it stings terribly but he mumbles, “I’d rather have that pain than this one.” 

“I’d rather be dead,” you mumble.

His shoulders shake a little. “You’re undead.”

You sigh though your nose and lay your head against the back of his neck. “One day I’ll come across the way to completely murder a Rainbow Drinker and perhaps I’ll commit suicide. I’m sure it’s in one of those goddamn books.”

He punches your shoulder lightly. “I’ll fucking murder you before you go and kill yourself – especially over some girl,” and he’s kidding. He’d let you do it. Karkat Vantas is as aware of the pain as you are and you know he’d rather be observed by millions for the mutant he is than have to live like this.

 

The human courtship of friendship is much like the Trollian courtship of flushed emotions; so when Rose presses against you when the two of you lay in a puddle of pillows and when she smiles at you and stays close to you, always in reach, your heart aches terribly. “Such a tease,” you’d think if she knew she was doing any of it. The two of you have avoided quadrant talk and any other related issues in favor of privacy – at least for now. You’re sure the talk will happen at some point. Maybe when the two of you are older, and when you aren’t sickly in love and considering a double suicide with Karkat.

“You should really stop being so mopey and maybe you should perk up a bit and stop being such a big baby,” your mind tells you. Depression sucks. Your heart, however, begs to be in its proper environment at the moment. Said environment beating a black pit that’s full of your tears and a big glob of your feelings – you’re kind of mad at yourself for using the word glob. Ugh.

“Found anything in your research?” Rose asks, eyebrows raised and smile eager.

You shake your head negatively and acknowledge that your poker face, even for her, has begun to fall to show how torn up you are inside. No, you think, she does not know. She is oblivious and probably always will be. Up until the day your poker face clatters against the carpet and you tell her how much you want to love her and she’ll awkwardly say something about how no, Kanaya, I’m most likely not a homosexual or whatever and don’t return your feelings. Blah blah blah. “Have you?”

She pulls something of an upside down smirk, a frown that’s not completely a frown, and gives the same shake of her head. Leaning back into the pile of pillows, she sets her book down so she can look at the cover upside down. “With the lack of interest coming from all these novels,” Rose starts, “this is all getting rather boring.”

“We could bring Terezi and Dave in here to do the work,” you kid. Your voice doesn’t show amusement and in fact, expressed boredom. Maybe she’ll notice and get concerned. Well, of course she’s noticed. She is a therapist, or claims to be, after all. But it’s likely she’ll take it for a lame attempt at sarcasm or tiredness or some other bland excuse. “I’m sure the Mayor would draw some lovely pictures to follow the tales,” the Mayor is rather adorable, you admit, and his obliviousness brings a small smile to your face. The smile feels heavy and you drop it quickly.

She stares at you in concern, once again, eyebrows furrowed as she stares at the walls in her alternative way. “Is this unrequited relationship making you this… detached?” you know she chose her words very carefully. “This depressed?”

You stare at her blankly for a moment – a subconscious fantasy of leaning into her scent and pressing your lips together and engulfing yourself in her and engulfing her in your love and, wow, wouldn’t you love for her to share your sentiments – and say, “Rose, have you ever had your heart broken, or something similar?”

“You’ve viewed my entire life,” she says. “Wouldn’t you know?”

“You haven’t,” you finish.

“No, I have not.” Rose squints at you, and in a way it almost makes you angry that she’s attempting to be empathetic with how you feel right now. She’s trying so hard though, so you can forgive her – slightly because you love the way the quick flash her violet eyes make as they dot around your form. “I’m sorry,” she swallows. “I believe I don’t know how to… connect with your situation.”

You tilt your head quizzically. Your face is still drawn back and expressionless and you recognize this is because you’re truly upset and the weight on your shoulders makes it far too difficult to do anything but sob.

“I mean,” she starts, “I cannot, in anyway, understand what you’re going through. I,” she stops. “Who is it?”

You raise your eyebrows at her. “What are you feelings towards John?”

“John?” she repeats.

You hum.

She repeats the buzz of your lips with her own and rolls the question over in her mind. The longer she stays silent, the brighter her cheeks seem to become. She bites her lip and furrows her brow, almost looks worried but then you get it, have it proven, that Rose Lalonde is in love, was destined to love, John Egbert.

You get up and before you transport back to your respiteblock you tell her, “It’s fine. I already knew, anyway.”

 

Karkat shows you the scars he’s created on his wrist. “I’m kind of fond of them,” he mumbles into your throat, hiding himself from the rest of the world. You’ve set to succumb to self-harm, but the idea has been planted in the back of your mind. It’s sure to sprout eventually, you believe.

And while Terezi and Dave are distracted with their own arts and crafts and possibly their own emotions, Rose is practicing her knitting or her violin, and Gamzee is god know where with those stinking corpses, the two of you sit here. You, licking at the veins on Karkat’s wrist, and him crying quietly into your shirt. 

“Do you even eat anymore?” he asks.

You shake your head.

“Do you want to?”

You blow cold air on the saliva you’ve left on his wrist and drop it. It falls limply against your thigh. “No, not really,” and while you’re hungry, starving even, you don’t desire food.

 

Rose slams down her book and stares intently at you until you acknowledge her outburst. She’s upset, and that much is obvious. Frustrated fits her expression better.

“Yes?” you inquire.

“Kanaya,” she says thickly. Your heart hurts because she cares for you, she wants you to be alright, but she does not love you and she loves John. “What the fuck,” she emphasizes the swear, “Is wrong with you?”

You look back down at the book in your lap. You haven’t actually read anything in the past two months. “I told you already, Miss Lalonde.” You pause; wait for her to say something. She doesn’t, so you continue, “It’s simply a matter of the heart that is a pile of unreturned feelings and depression.” You’re tempted to go off and tell her how shitty you feel, how much you’ve started to begun to loathe yourself, but you don’t. That’d be rude.

“You haven’t been eating,” she mumbles, seeming less aggressive now. “And I doubt you’ve slept anytime soon. You’re constantly expressionless and all you do is slump and when you can’t distract your mind with searching, you’re zoned out and staring at your book as if you’ve been smacked with it.”

“Indeed,” you agree.

“Who isn’t returning your feelings?” she’s desperate. Rose Lalonde wants you to get out of your pit of pain and unworthiness, but Rose Lalonde does not love you. You wish you could see her and John kiss as you had Vriska and Tavros. Perhaps, by now, you could have smashed your feelings into the ground. Maybe Karkat wouldn’t be creating scars all over his body. Maybe you’d eat.

You feel like crying.

“Rose, it does not really matter because that person does not return these feelings and have their eyes on somebody else.”

She rolls her eyes, angry with your disobedience, obviously. “Please, Kanaya, tell me who it is.”

You look at Rose; look at her eyes and the desperation in them to know. You wonder if she thinks it’s someone dead or someone living. You hum before staring back down at your book and saying, “No.”

 

Karkat clings to you when he can now. At night, or day, no one can tell on this fucking rock, neither of you sleep, but he clings to your shirt and doesn’t cry but he’s needs a body and you’re the only one that understands. You wrap your arms around him, giving into the need to be understood and breathing heavily into his neck as you try not to cry.

“Eat.”

You don’t.

“Fuck – Kanaya, drink.”

“No.”

He sighs, rough fingers dragging across your collar bone. “I’ll stop cutting if you eat.”

“No, you won’t.”

He sighs again. “No, I won’t.”

 

“Rose,” you say as you step into the room. Your skin feels electrified from the transportation, but besides that you feel rather numb. Karkat’s determined to confront John with his feelings and he’s convinced you to do the same.

Your heart aches when she looks at you and her surprised expression easily melts into one of concern. “Yes?”

“The person of whom has caused me to dive into this never ending pit of turmoil,” you say more but don’t pay attention to your rambling. She doesn’t stop you. “However I would the feeling of guilt to stay out of this matter, because I believe it’d make everyone feel shittier.”

“Yes,” she agrees, looking somewhat confused.

“Rose,” you say again. “I’m in love with you.” You say this bluntly, and despite yourself your cheeks burn jade. “And not to worry, because I know your current standings with John and your human sexuality and I do not expect these feelings to be returned – as I’ve told you.” You inhale, “so. That’s that.”

“What the hell?” she looks at you, somewhat dumbfounded.

You glare at her.

Rose clears her throat and, blushing a light pink, tries again. “Um,” she fails. After a moment of searching, she finds her words again. “I mean,” she clears her throat again. This is so goddamn awkward. “My current standings with John?” she asks. You nod. “I don’t like John any more than a friend, or a brother,” she adds.

You raise your eyebrows and for some reason your arms feel heavy.

“And my sexuality?” she raises her eyebrow judgingly. “I know John does not identify as a homosexual – one who likes the same sex.” She stands, and walks closer to you. Your face has flushed jade and you feel embarrassed. She’s accusing you for accusing her. “But I, on the other hand,” Rose states, “am a homosexual.” She crosses her arms and glares at you, but it seems halfhearted. “Honestly, Kanaya…” she sighs and grabs your shoulders. Your arms get heavier so you drop them from your chest.

You don’t know what to say you so mumble, “Honestly what?”

“You’re a blind woman.” And then she looks at you with big, sad eyes. Suddenly, you feel like a hammer has pounded in a nail of guilt. “I love you as well.”

“You blushed when I brought up John, though,” you state. She’s just trying to make you feel better.

“I had remembered that I have a duty with him to repopulate our planet.”

“Oh.”

 

“JOHN IS SUCH A FUCKING ASSHOLE,” he shouts into your collar and he’s crying and you feel bad for him. Feel bad that he didn’t get to have the same revelation you did. Well, you feel bad up until he chokes out, “That stupid fucking prick. Fucking… human love and shit.”

“What?”

“He loves me.”

“Rose too.”

He smiles and digs his head into the fabric of your shirt.

 

Her fingers entangle with your own, the two of you taking a break from reading and searching to get over this whole mess. You stare at her toes – painted blue, like her nails – as she breathes quietly next to you.

“I love you,” she mumbles.

You shift your position, releasing her hand and moving the two of you so you can wrap your limbs around her and hold her close and hide your face in the crook of her neck. “I love you too, Rose.”

And while you’re still depressed, the worst of it seems to vanish at an appropriate speed once she shares her sentiments. “You’re so stupid, you know…” she tells you, often. “I’d been worried sick and crying over you and…” she sighs and kisses your cheek. “You’re so, so stupid, Miss Maryam.”

You don’t have a counter argument so you press your lips – not exactly a kiss, but something similar – against her neck and suck at the skin until she gets what you’re brazenly hinting at. “Oh.”

You buzz against her skin with a hum.

“Yeah,” she says, “go ahead.”

Your fangs slip easily into her throat and the rush of blood reminds you how hungry you are. You drink from her until she’s dizzy and she’s quiet for a long time and you do have to leave to get your fill from Terezi, but you return quickly and hold onto her until she’s not so pale. It ends up taking a nap and two hours later until she is back to her usual state of light tan, and then she presses a chaste kiss to your lips.

 

Karkat complains now about how you’re lucky to have a physical relationship. “I’ve got two more fucking years before I can get my lips on that dipshit,” he growls. But it’s all in fun, and you know he desires John but now it’s in a way he knows that it’s returned and lusting after the boy is so much easier for him.

“I’m sorry that your dipshit matesprit cannot be here for you to hold onto instead of me.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up!” he says into your neck. “Like, my fucking moirail or something right here, dude.”

“Really?” you say, sarcastically. 

“Friendship evolves after level twenty-eight,” he says, chuckling.

You give him a quizzical stare, “What?”

“Oh.” He pouts. “Did one of those fuckers not tell you about Pokémon? It’s, like,” he starts explaining this human card game and the leveling system. Supposedly, there’s a TV show for it and everything, and it sound kinda cool, he thinks, but it’s unlikely he’ll ever get to see it.

 

Rose pressed a feather light kiss to your throat and the bridge of her nose brushes the dip of your jaw and you purr, and she giggles. Your skin feels electrified again, but more from the burn of her touch then the act of transporting.

You love Rose Lalonde so, so much.

But she loves you back, and that’s great.

“So, so much,” she repeats, kissing your cheek. Her fingers entangle yours once again, and she mumbles, “You’re so blind.”

“You’re so lovely.”

“You’re so beautiful.”

“You’re rather adorable.”

“This is going to get out of hand,” she giggles.

You kiss her lips and she does this odd act of affection by rubbing the two of your noses together. While it’s odd, and probably looks rather silly, you indulge her and it feels rather nice to do it, though.

“Rose?” you ask.

“Hm?” she hums.

“I love you.” 

“I love you too, dear.” Her fingers press against the fabric covering your stomach and she whispers against your skin, “Don’t do that to yourself again.”

You kind of want to cry.

You kiss her instead.


End file.
